


Of White Lies and Chocolate Hearts

by peachiinari



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Gon Freecs, Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Aged-Up Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gon is a Hopeless Romantic, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Internalized Homophobia, Pining, Romance, Trigger warning:, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachiinari/pseuds/peachiinari
Summary: In two weeks, it’ll be Valentine’s Day. In two weeks, Gon plans to confess his feelings to his best friend of seven years. In two weeks, Gon Freecss will hand Killua Zoldyck a confession.Except he wasn’t really expecting his best friend to walk in on him writing said letter—and demanding he help write it.✧((or: Gon is trying his best to confess his feelings to Killua and Killua is just one dense idiot.))
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 112
Kudos: 599





	Of White Lies and Chocolate Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> For any Spanish phrases, translations in English are in the End Notes!

Gon is sort of in a pickle, and he really wants to  _ not _ do this.

But, well, as his Aunt Mito would say:  _ No te rajes _ .

Because Gon has spent already two days ignoring his homework in favor of scribbling into now-crumbled papers. Has spent two days stressing over the scrawled handwriting, trying to put into words his feelings. 

Which is really hard—surprisingly. 

He thought he’d be able to just—just  _ write something.  _ Put his feelings out there, and his thoughts, and his heart, all on display. But every time Gon writes a paragraph, a sentence, a word, he feels like it’s not perfect. It’s not what he’s trying to get across, and Valentine’s Day is in two weeks, and so that leads him to where he currently is:

Sitting in an empty classroom, pencil in his mouth, and he’s frustrated—tapping his finger against the desk, deep in thought. Word after word after word. There are so many things he can say—can express—and yet nothing feels perfect. He wants to get this across as sweetly as he can, like the romance movies always did. 

Absentmindedly, Gon twirls the pencil in his mouth. 

He’s gone through two whole notebooks in just two days. Aunt Mito had nearly torn  _ him _ apart upon seeing the absolute mass of crumbled papers filling the trash and hiding in the crevices of his room. But Gon couldn’t help the paper waste when the words weren’t completely from his heart. 

Call him a romantic, won’t you? 

Which is why, in the current state of peril currently running through his mind, he doesn’t hear the classroom door swing open—doesn’t hear the footsteps of sneakers on tile or the backpack hitting against the desk. 

“Gon?” 

White hair, alabaster skin—a figure is leaning over to peer at Gon. 

“What are you doing?” 

Suddenly registering his presence, Gon grows red—utterly flustered red, crimson dyeing his ears red and dusting his cheeks. The words are stuck at his throat, and he stumbles over his speech, waving his hands frantically. His heart is pounding, blood roaring in his ears. 

“Killua!” Gon’s voice is an octave higher than usual. “I didn’t hear you come in!” 

Killua frowns, gets closer to Gon, a soft hand coming up to press against Gon’s forehead. “Are you sick? Your skin is warm and red. Did Mito make you come to school today?”

With Killua so close, Gon can’t hide the handwriting in the notebook, or the dozens of hearts scribbled into the margins of the paper. Killua is leaning so close that he’s going to see the letter, and Gon can only watch as his eyes trail from his face to the open notebook behind him. 

Gon can see the exact moment Killua registers the words on the paper—when his frown slacks and his hands reach around Gon to grab the notebook.

“What’s this, huh?” He taps the page of the notebook with his index finger, sparing Gon a glance. 

And suddenly, it’s like a fear washes over Gon. He feels himself freeze under Killua’s watchful gaze. What if—what if Killua stops being his friend? What if Killua finds him weird, or gross—some weirdo that doesn’t deserve to be his friend because he likes boys. Gon panics internally, mind racing, and he opens his mouth to stutter out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“It’s a love letter…” His voice trails off, and he averts his gaze. “For—for a girl I like!” Gon rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, and Killua stiffens. 

“A girl? You  _ like  _ someone?” Killua asks, incredulous, and Gon knows it’s a lie, but he’s not ready. Not yet—not yet. 

It’s just a white lie, he reasons.

“Yuh—Yeah!” Gon says, and it’s not all that convincing when his voice stutters. His intonation rises. 

Killua looks at him blankly, before taking a seat on the desk beside Gon, legs crossed, and he’s holding  _ that _ face, the one he makes when he wants answers—where he arcs one eyebrow in question, angles his mouth a little more to the right, and his lips, soft-looking, press together. 

No, Gon doesn’t fantasize about kissing his best-friend-of-seven-years lips, ever,  _ thank you very much.  _

“So then, spill.” Killua’s words are prying. 

“H—Huh?” Gon’s face gets redder, hazel eyes wide. 

Killua hums, places his chin in the palm of his hand, blue eyes staring directly into his.

“C’mon, you’re not gonna tell your best friend about this girl you apparently like and have never mentioned?” His voice is teasing, and Gon fiddles with his fingers, looking down onto his lap, embarrassed. 

“Her name is K—Karina.” 

“And? Tell me more about her. How come I’ve never seen her? What’s she like? How does she look?” The questions come barreling in, one after another without restraint—unrelenting, and it leaves Gon feeling a little fried in the head. 

“Well, uh, we met seven years ago,” Gon starts, and he pauses to stall for time. “H—She’s taller than me, and has bright blue eyes and—” It’s like a switch flips for Gon, and he falls into a ramble. 

“And I really like her slender hands and perfect nails. She has fluffy hair—the prettiest color you’ll ever see, and dewy, clear skin that she’s always stressed about.” Gon waves his hands frantically. “But I’m not shallow! She’s confident and fearless and humble. She’s so forgiving, and sincere, and outgoing—she offers to help everyone out, and has a lot of friends.”

Gon slows down, hums to himself for a second, and his breath catches in his throat—eyes shyly meeting Killua’s, looking up from his lashes. “I think I really like—”

Killua interrupts him, hand shooting out to cover Gon’s mouth. “Keep that for your confession—I don’t want to hear you be gross.”

It grows quiet. 

And awkward. 

Gon refuses to meet Killua’s eyes, shyly running his hands up and down the leg of his pants, his palms rubbing against the fabric. The ringing of the bell signals the start of the lunch break—forty-five minutes of uninterrupted mealtime, and even then, Killua doesn’t speak. 

Neither does Gon.

Outside the door, a clamoring of students. Shouting, whistles, chatter. Inside, where Gon sits and Killua stares, silence.

His thoughts spiral, because Killua is  _ never _ quiet, and he chances a quick glance at Killua’s face, hopes to maybe catch something—any emotion that will give him a clue.

There’s nothing. 

A blank face is staring at Gon, before he hops off the desk with a small smile. 

“Alright then, I’ll help you write the letter since you don’t know how to write for shit.” 

The flush returns all-the-more quickly to Gon’s features, and he stammers, embarrassed, shaking his head to disagree. “Ah, no, Killua—really—uhm, it’s—it’s fine!” 

“Fat chance—you really think I’m not gonna help my best friend get a girl?” Killua walks off, and Gon can only stare at his back. He turns when he reads the door. “C’mon, let’s get a seat outside for lunch. We can talk about writing your confession there.” 

The sentence is final. There’s no space for objection. 

“Alright.” Gon mumbles. He grabs the notebook and shuts it, stuffs it in his bag and slings his backpack over his shoulder, rushing over to Killua’s side. 

As they walk down the hall, Killua is greeted by several students—all smiling and waving at him, calling out to him. They call out to the Captain of the Swim Team or Student Council President. He smiles and laughs at their quick jokes—answers quick questions about swim meets or school events. 

Killua’s popularity never ceases to amaze Gon. 

And Killua is Gon’s best friend— _ has _ been his best friend since they were nine, and Gon had watched Killua grow from timid to social in a matter of years, coaxed out of his shell by Mito and Gon himself. Although, that passion for being social and having friends, that knack ability for it, was already within Killua to begin with—Gon knows.

The vending machine outside is restocked—thankfully—and Killua is inserting two dollars into the machine, selects the red Gatorade for himself, and buys Gon the vanilla Coca-Cola he likes, handing it to him with ease.

“Here, let’s go get a seat.” 

The private tables are just a short walk from the vending machine, and when their shoulders brush, Gon tenses, heart skipping a beat. Their fingers nearly graze, just centimeters apart, and he’s sucking in a breath, averting his gaze to avoid drawing attention to the action. 

There is an empty table, private and secluded, only accessible from one way, surrounded by greenery and the open sky. It’s kind of romantic—even though the pretense of  _ whatever this is _ isn’t. Silently, Gon takes a seat across from Killua, who swings his bag onto the table and sits.

“You’re more quiet than usual,” Killua says, rests his chin on the palm of his hand—looks straight into Gon’s eyes. “Are you thinking that hard about the letter?”

Gon hums and Killua frowns. 

“Idiot. Stop stressing over it, I said I’d help you with it, wouldn’t I?” Killua leans over, takes the lunch from Gon’s bag. “What did Mito pack anyway?”

A small laugh. “ _ Arroz con frijoles _ , and _ pan con mantequilla _ .”

“My two years in Spanish haven’t taught me shit, you’ll have to translate.” 

Gon snorts. “We’ve been best friends for how many years now? You still don’t know basic foods?”

Killua huffs. “We’ve known each other for seven years and nine months—cut me some slack here, it’s a whole language.” 

“It’s rice and beans, and bread with butter.” Gon laughs. 

A noise of amazement. “Mito is so cool, did she pack any sweets?” 

“One sugar cookie for you, as always.” 

“God bless. The chef at my house can’t ever compare.” 

“You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true!” 

Quick, quiet laughter.

They fall into silence, and Killua unscrews the cap on his Gatorade, takes long sips to fill the quiet. Gon pushes Killua’s portion of his lunch towards him, and quietly takes out the notebook—flips the pages open to where he needs to be. Killua leans over, peers at the notebook upside—grabs it and turns it. 

His eyes skim the words again. “This is all you’ve managed?”

Gon grows flustered—embarrassed by his lack of vocabulary. “Yeah…” 

Blue eyes pause at certain words. “It’s a little wordy, isn’t it?” 

He feels his shoulders tense, fingers lock up, heat smothering his cheeks. Gon averts his gaze. “H—She means a lot to me, uhm, and I wanted to express everything.” 

Killua nods. “That’s fine. You can just fix up some grammar stuff, I guess. Definitely need to slow down your handwriting—it’s still an atrocity.”

“Kil-lu-a!” Gon whines, hiding his face in his hands.

A snort. “Just some truths, hm? And there’s some stuff you can reword to make it less janky.” 

Gon looks down. Refuses to meet Killua’s gaze—the gaze he can feel on himself. “Alright, uhm, I’ll just—keep rewriting it and stuff, I guess.” 

“Mmm, yeah. I don’t have any meetings today or anything. I’ll come over and help you out.” 

Gon waves frantically and shakes his head, nearly spills the Coca-Cola can over himself. “You don’t have to! It’s fine—I, uhm, don’t want to bother you with it.”

His room was an absolute  _ mess _ . It still  _ is _ , because even though Aunt Mito had chided him about picking up, he’d instead refocused on the letter at hand—and he’s pretty sure she only let it slide this once because he was staring so intently at the paper, nearly burning holes into it. 

And if Killua comes over, that means he’s going to see the upturned state of his room.

Killua laughs. “I told you I was wing-maning this shit.” He reaches out, holding out a piece from his bread with butter: “C’mere, you haven’t even touched your food. Have a bite from mine.”

The flush on Gon’s face explodes, extending all the way down to his neck, and his eyes widen—switches his gaze between Killua and the sandwich, before cautiously leaning forward and taking a bit. He chews carefully, refuses to look at Killua, but it’s hard not to when Killua is smiling and leaning forward, too.

“You got a bit of butter at the side of your mouth, idiot.” 

A thumb comes to wipe it off, and Gon freezes, eyes staring into Killua’s—and Gon is sure he’s imagining the flush on Killua’s own cheeks, the one that lightly dusts his alabaster skin in red and makes the blue in his eyes stand out even more than they already do.

In that moment of frozen time, the Gatorade that has stained Killua’s lips red is all the more alluring, and Gon struggles to cap down the urge to let his eyes stare—to travel down and get a look at his mouth. Realizing what he’s done, Killua nearly scrambles back, quickly sits back down and away from Gon’s personal bubble and laughs nervously. 

He opens his mouth—

The bell rings. 

“ _ Shit, _ ” Killua swears, and Gon laughs.

“You’re going to be late.” Gon chides.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut it. Some of us don’t have our classes in the same building.” 

Gon hums—standing as soon as Killua is. He watches as Killua scrambles to pack his things, swings his backpack over his shoulder and sways to the side with the force of the throw. Gon chokes on a snort, averting his eyes. And Killua is grinning, looking down at Gon, the difference of height plausible as more time passed, quickly screwing the cap onto his drink and packaging Mito’s homemade lunch. 

“I’ll see you after class at the gate, the one between the freshmen and art building.” 

He doesn’t even give Gon a chance to reply, already hurrying his steps away, and Gon cups his hands around his mouth to amplify his words—makes sure Killua hears the words loud and clear. 

“Alright! You’d better not keep me waiting, Killua!” 

Killua’s head whips around, and he’s sporting a wide grin, signaling to Gon with a thumbs up—nearly running into an underclassman. Gon snorts as the underclassman profusely apologizes, and Killua waves his hands to assure him it was fine. 

With slow steps, Gon is packing his things, stuffing the notebook in his bag once again, and packing his lunch back into the plastic grocery bag. He tosses the empty cola can into the trashcan and it makes a thunking sound when the metal collides against the other trash inside the bin. 

The smile that graces Gon’s lips is small and tender, and the red that dusts his cheeks is barely visible.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When the final bell of the day rings, the sigh of relief that should be leaving Gon’s lips is instead stuck at his throat, heart beating in the chambers of his chest erratically. Because Killua is coming over—and Killua always comes over, but now he’s going to see the mess of crumbled letters, and he’s going to help with his  _ own _ confession letter. Gon wants to groan. 

The clamoring of students outside, the yelling and hollering, a stampede of footsteps and chatter. And Gon waits—stands by his desk as his teacher packs her things. He waits, until the noise quiets down, and quickly bids his teacher a good day—swinging on his bag and pushing open the door. 

The halls of the first floor of the fourth building are nearly empty, with just a few students walking and talking loudly. Gon is taking quick strides, pushing the building exit open, and the sunlight forces his pupils to shrink—vision darkening just for a second—before he’s standing by the gate, waiting.

And Killua doesn’t take long—just as he promised. He’s there within a minute—Gon can see him walking from the breezeway, holding his bulky AP Psychology book in one hand, the bottle of Gatorade in another. Students pass him and make quick conversation, but his eyes are set on looking for Gon, and as soon their eyes meet, he grins widely.

The smile makes Gon’s heart stutter pathetically in his chest. 

“Killua!” Gon’s voice tumbles into a giggle. 

“Hey,” Killua says, blue eyes staring into his. “Ready to go?”

Gon hums. “Yeah,  _ vamo’. _ ”

Killua groans as they walk, and Gon reaches out to take the psychology book from Killua’s hands, slows his steps to step behind Killua and open his bag. “It’s so annoying—can’t believe I take Spanish and they’re not teaching us  _ your _ Spanish.” 

A snort, the zipping of his bag shut is audible. “You’re being taught formal European Spanish, and it isn’t  _ my _ Spanish, I just spoke casually.”

“I know that, idiot, but it’s still annoying.” Killua huffs. “I can barely understand you when you speak, much less when Mito jumps in and you all start chattering loudly like birds.” 

Their shoulders brush, and Gon flushes, fingers nearly touching— _ keep it cool, keep it cool, keep it cool. _ There’s a moment of silence, where Gon struggles to gather himself and compose words—use the brain to mouth filter. 

“I...I already teach you my Spanish, too!” He stumbles on his words. “You get more immersion than the other non-speakers in the class.”

Killua deadpans. “The class is full of Spanish speakers who are there for an easy credit.” 

Gon chokes on a laugh. “You’re top of the junior class—you’re basically Valedictorian—you’ll manage.” 

A noise of agreement. 

In the comfortable silence, as they walk side-by-side, already near his house, Gon pipes up.

“ _ Vamo’, hábla en español pa’ practicar _ .”

Killua’s head whips to the side, eyes wide, a flush quickly spreading on his cheeks. Gon won’t ever say it, but he adores the red shade that overtakes Killua’s skin. 

“I… I don’t know…” Killua’s voice dies down, trailing off and embarrassed, and he scratches his cheek.

“C’mon!” Gon whines, “You’re helping me with my letter—this is fair. We haven’t practiced in a while.” 

Killua opens his mouth, shuts it again, meets Gon’s eyes and looks away. “I…  _ No sé qué quieres que te diga. _ ”

His accent is thick, syllables pronounced a little too strong, a little too off-put on tone. His rhythm incorporates a little English, not completely Spanish, so it sounds a little weird—but it’s not terrible. And Killua has slowly been picking up Spanish over the years of them being best friends, knows a bit of slang here and there—will sometimes use it in their texts.

Gon smiles, leans a little closer to tease Killua. “Mmm,  _ ¿qué quieres comer cuando lleguemos a casa? _ ” 

Killua freezes, silently mouths the words and furrows his brows, looking over the words in his mind—internalizes and processes them over and over. 

They pause on the sidewalk, looking both ways for traffic before running across the road—jaywalking without hesitation.

“Uhm,” He starts, looking at Gon for help, who only smiles gleefully. “I…  _ tendrías… tendrías refresco... en tu casa? _ ”

Gon bites down his lip to avoid laughing and nods his head enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah!” A sunny smile is on Gon’s face, and Killua’s features seem to soften at the sight of crescent eyes and a scrunched nose. 

Gon’s house is within view, just three houses down, driveway empty and lights off. 

“Keys. Gimme the keys.” Killua says, slowly his steps to dig through Gon’s backpack for the worn lanyard.

Seconds within opening the front door, Gon is tumbling inside and rushing quickly up to his room. The letters—the crumbled pieces of paper—he doesn’t want Killua to see the absolute disastrous state of his room. Gon can hear Killua as he takes the stairs, as the wood creaks with every step closer, warning him of the impending doom. 

Gon knows he’s absolutely  _ screwed _ . 

“Woah.” 

A flush spreads on Gon’s face, down his neck—tints his ears red and dusts his nose crimson. 

“I—I... “ Gon’s voice trails off, and he quickly leans over to pick up all the discarded letters—left on the floor to be forgotten. “I’ve been working on the letter for three days now.”

Killua whistles, bends down to pick one of the papers, and Gon quickly snatches it from his hands, laughing nervously. Killua arches an eyebrow, watching Gon quickly shuffle away and stuff everything into the little trash bin in his room. 

Without hesitation, Killua sets his bag down and sits on Gon’s bed, kicks off his shoes and sits cross-legged to stare at him atop the comforter. “It’d be nice to see what you’ve written previously to get an idea of how to approach this.” 

And that’s something Gon  _ definitely _ can’t afford—because he’s sure more than a handful of the letters feature Killua’s name  _ somewhere _ in there, in the jumbled words trying to describe his feelings, over and over and over again. Another nervous laugh, and Gon rubs the nape of his neck, sticks his tongue out. 

“It’s fine—they were all really bad. The one you saw was my best one.” 

A deep hum, and Killua flops onto Gon’s bed, facing the ceiling. “Well, take out the letter again. Let’s analyze the shit outta it, I guess.” 

Shaky hands reach into his bag, and Gon begrudgingly hands the notebook over to Killua’s open palm, places it gently as if it were his child. There are already several more pages torn out then there were before lunch.

“You’ve been writing more.” It’s not a question. 

Gon shyly nods.

Killua sighs. “Alright, well, let’s see what’s new in here, hm?” 

He opens the notebook, and the first page has scrambled writing—practically chicken scratch—with words crossed out and gone over in black until it was just a big block of black. Misspelled words, missing commas, the wrong usage of  _ your _ and  _ you’re _ . Killua’s eyes scan the paper, prepares himself to try and fix some of the more obvious mistakes as he reads.

He reads: “You’re so easy to… like everything about you is so incredible. You make my heart brighter, my days happier, and my smile wider. I…”

Killua pauses, squints at the paper.

“...like you, have really really really really liked you for so long I can’t even remember when I started to like you but it’s so hard to sit right next to you and be so close to you and not kiss you. When I look at you I see my dream it's everything I ever wanted and everything I’d ever imagined. I just hope you think the same as me. I can’t even remember the time where I didn’t like you I guess I’ve always liked you even when I didn’t know you’re. You changed my life so much and I for ever owe you for that. I’ll...” 

For a second, Killua’s expression is unreadable—silent and staring, burning holes into the very words he’d just read aloud. Gon sweats, fiddles with his hands, keeps his gaze everywhere except Killua. He waits for the words. Waits for the utterance of  _ something _ . 

“It’s…” Killua’s voice trails off. “It’s not  _ bad _ . If anything, I’d suggest to just make sure it doesn’t sound like you’re trying to force her to return your feelings.” 

The lump in Gon’s throat grows. He struggles to breathe—chokes out his words. “Ruh—right.” 

What if…

What if Killua didn’t return his feelings? 

Because...

Because Gon has been through this several hundred times in his head. 

He’s imagined every possible scenario—every possible scenario where Killua  _ returns _ his feelings. Not—not scenarios where he didn’t. Well. Gon  _ has,  _ per-say, imagined very bad scenarios. Like Killua being disgusted with him for liking boys, or Killua being weirded out that Gon likes him—Gon fears losing Killua more than anything.

Those types of thoughts plagued his mind, and Gon had quickly filed them under not-so-happy thoughts he doesn’t ever want to revisit until  _ after _ Valentine’s Day.

But at the end of the day, Gon is selfish. He’s selfish, and he likes his best friend  _ a lot _ . A lot more than he ever should. And he’s been sitting on these feelings for a long time now—he doesn’t want to hide them any longer. It’s gotten to the point where he would rather just say it and get it over with. 

The feelings clash and conflict with each other. 

It’s kind of weird. 

“Well, I’d say there are two ways you can do this,” Killua says, puts up two fingers for visual effect. “One: a formal, formulaic letter. Two: Spewing your feelings like you just did.” 

Gon leans back on his desk chair, whining loudly into the air. 

“I’m not good at this, Killua.” 

A snort. “That’s why I’m here, idiot.” 

Gon looks up, pouting. “Not being very helpful.” 

“Well, maybe if you’d let me see the other letters—”

“Nope!” 

Killua huffs. Gon grins—giggles as he wrings his hands. “Do you think the letter is okay?” 

Blue eyes peer over. A scoff. “Didn’t I just tell you that it was okay?”

Gon flushes in embarrassment. “W-Well, yeah, but you also mentioned a formulaic letter—I don’t know what that means.” 

Killua sighs, pulling himself up and off the bed, plopping the notebook on the desk and turning Gon’s chair to face the desk. Gon chokes on a laugh, and Killua is already chuckling. He ruffles Gon’s hair, pushing down playful, and Gon strains to push against him—laughing louder.

“A formulaic letter,” he starts—and Gon might just lose focus, because Killua is close to his ear, and he’s moved his hand to grip his shoulder and lean forward to stare at the notebook—uses his finger to point at the lines on the paper, “has a greeting, beginning, heart, and ending. That’s why it’s formulaic.” 

Gon weakly hums. Struggles to follow along with his words. His brain feels close to frying over. 

“So what do you think?” Killua asks. 

“Wuh—What?” 

Killua frowns, leaning close, before aggressively jamming his finger against Gon’s forehead. “Is there a brain in there  _ at all _ ?” 

“Ah, Kil-lu-a!” Gon whines, trying to cover his forehead with his small hands. 

A snort. “I was saying, do you prefer a formulaic letter or a spill-feelings letter?”

A moment of silence, and Gon bites his lip, staring into space—thinking long and hard. “I think…” He hesitates. “I think feelings might be better.” 

Killua nods. “That’s fine. Then you’re on the right track. We just need to fix some things up—I guess. Do you know what you want to write the letter onto?”

Gon yips—a noise of excitement, completely unquelled and uncontained. “Yeah! I already bought the letter—look!” 

Quickly, Gon is standing, passing Killua to open his closet and reach up, standing on his tiptoes to grab the small box at the very top of his closet. Carefully, he opens the lid, and takes out the vibrant red envelope and the blank cardstock greeting card. Red string to wrap the card in. 

“I got this! I saw it at the store yesterday when I went, and I knew it’s the one I wanted.” 

Killua looks at it in silence. He nods. 

“It’s nice.” 

Gon pouts. “Just nice? I thought it was pretty.” 

Putting up his hands in mock-surrender, Killua smiles. “Alright, alright, it’s very pretty. I’m sure…” He trails off, “I’m sure the girl you’re confessing to will really like it.” 

Knowing full-well that the letter is intended for Killua himself, Gon grins and nods. 

And in the silence that follows, it takes Gon a moment to speak up again, words sounding just a little wishful and light. 

“Wouldn’t it be romantic to kiss the letter for good luck?”

Killua flushes, sputtering and averting his gaze. “Oh my god, you’re so embarrassing.” 

“Shhh.” Gon shushes him. “I think it’s a cute idea.” 

Killua’s hand is covering his mouth as he struggles to cap down an endearing smile—the flush on his cheeks spreading further. “You have no shame.” 

“It’s not shameful or embarrassing! I think h—she’d like it.” Gon stumbles on his words,  _ again _ . 

And at that moment, the smile falls off Killua’s face for just a second—a split second. If Gon hadn’t been Killua’s best friend for the better half of eight years, he would’ve missed the quick shift. The mood becomes a little somber. After a moment, Gon opens his mouth to speak, but Killua is standing, not meeting Gon’s questioning eyes. 

“I should get going.”

A noise of confusion. “Ah, but Killua, won’t you at least stay for dinner?” Gon spares a glance at the clock. “Aunt Mito gets home in thirty minutes or so.” 

Pushing Gon’s head down, ruffling his hair, Killua gives him a soft smile. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I have to help Nanika and Alluka with something.” 

Thoughts a mess, Gon can only nod, toying with his hands anxiously—watches as Killua puts on his shoes and shrugs on his bag. And even though Killua has been to his house well over a hundred times and is far from being a guest anymore, Gon still follows him downstairs and opens the front door for him. 

Killua finally looks at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” 

Killua’s usually blue eyes look a little sour now—like bubbling acid. Gon frowns but doesn’t comment on it. 

“Okay…” Gon’s words are soft, barely above a whisper. “Swim practice tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll see you during weight training.”

With the sun already setting, Gon worries just a little about Killua walking home. He knows the Zoldyck estate is a little far, that Killua will have to keep walking down the oncoming blocks, turn once he reaches the park and cross under the highway to reach the nicer part of the suburbs. He knows it’s not even that long of a walk—thirty minutes—but he still worries. 

As Killua’s figure rescinds, Gon cups his hands around his mouth and yells: “Killua! Walk home safe! Text me once you get home, and say hi to the twins for me!” 

Faintly, he can see Killua turn and give a thumbs up before continuing his walk down the block.

Once Killua is no longer visible, Gon sighs and shuts the door—heads upstairs to his room. 

The red envelope catches his sight, and the notebook sits open to the page where they’d left off. 

Gon thinks of Killua’s bitter face. 

Fleeting thoughts—Gon considers maybe Killua’s expression comes from him simply helping him out because they’re best friends and nothing else. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next day is just as uneventful as Monday. Gon sits in his classes—sits through Algebra 2 and English 3 and Wood Shop, and through Weight Training with Killua. Until the day is over, and there’s swimming practice for Killua’s team. And it’s an unspoken rule that Killua and Gon walk home together whenever they can—which leads Gon to sitting on the bleachers after school, watching Killua practice swimming with his team. 

Though it doesn’t mean he’s the only one there.

The bleachers are filled with girls and boys alike, sitting and watching the practice. Specifically, for Killua. They sit, and swoon, and Gon is left to stare down at his notebook and then back up at Killua’s figure—shirtless and soaking wet, hair matted against his forehead. He’s laughing with his team, and Gon watches as he effortlessly pops out from the pool, biceps flexing and straining against the pool coping. 

Gon is starstruck.

_ Killua is really pretty.  _

Mindlessly, Gon scribbles words about Killua into the empty pages, margins filled with hearts and smiles—his pale skin, his white hair, ocean-blue eyes that outmatch the chlorine pool. Gon smiles, chin propped against his hand, slouching, as he thinks about Killua’s complaints over his easily sun-burnt skin. 

He thinks about Killua’s form swimming, near the bottom of the pool, kicking his legs and pushing his arms against the clear water to gain distance. 

“He’s looking over!”

“At me—he’s looking at me!”

Gon’s ears catch the harsh whispers. The gasps, and the clamoring. 

“He looks so good!” One whines. 

“No, he’s definitely looking at me!”

“He’s looked over a few times, hasn’t he?”

Gon reddens—wonders if Killua would spare  _ him _ glances. Would Killua look at him the way the girls want him to look at them? He gnaws on the tip of his pencil in thought. And he’s pretty far into his thoughts until the girls around him are ushering each other to  _ shut up _ . 

“He’s coming this way, oh my god.”

“Shh, shh—what if he hears you!” 

The entire bleachers cease its chatter, and Gon can feel someone come up and stop next to him, peering down at him and pushing the sunlight away. Droplets of water fall on the open paper, and he looks up, eyes meeting alabaster skin and toned muscle—then: a wide grin, smiling eyes, white hair. 

His face reddens, and he quickly shuts the notebook—trying to keep his hands busy and eyes averted.

“Gon.” Killua’s voice is breathy, laced in huffs for oxygen from strenuous activity. “C’mon, wanna join us for practice? I need a really good swimmer who’s just a little below me in skill to set an example.”

Gon snorts, setting the notebook into his bag before looking back up at Killua with challenging eyes. “A little below? I could blow you out of the water.” 

Killua’s grin only widens further, and he’s holding out his hand for Gon to grab. And Gon reaches out, grasping Killua’s wet hand, feels his balance shift as Killua pulls him up and close. He’s inches from Killua’s chest. He’s inches from colliding straight into Killua—Gon’s mouth twitches.

_ This is fine. _

Inwardly, though, despite the confidence he exudes, Gon is panicking.

And not for his skill. Because Gon  _ can _ surpass Killua in swimming. Always have and always will—but Killua is pretty.

Killua is  _ really pretty _ , and his body is toned out, with muscles and abs that flex at every step. And Gon—Gon  _ isn’t _ . Sure, Gon works out, but nothing as extensively as Killua—he wasn’t ripped, he had love handles, and even though he did have an abdominal line, there wasn't an actual definition on his stomach. 

Still, Killua is oblivious to Gon’s inner turmoil, graciously pulling him down the bleacher to his team, where the sun hits all too hard against the honey color of Gon’s skin, and he can already feel his skin begin to heat up in protest to the sun. And he’s lucky, too—because they’d just finished weight training, and Gon hadn’t bothered to change out of the physical education uniform, which meant he could easily just swim in the basketball shorts and white tee. 

One of the team members deadpans, voice flat—though it hides a hint of amusement. “Killua, Gon is going to outswim you.” 

Killua laughs outright. “We’ll see about that.”

Another voice rings. “Last time you two did a face-off, Gon beat you by three whole seconds.” 

A tsk, and Killua is rolling his shoulders, arm massaging the space between his neck and shoulder. “Gon, c’mon. Take off your shirt so you don’t have to walk home completely drenched.” 

Embarrassment floods Gon’s system. He shakes his head and waves his hands, smiling nervously. “It’s fine! I can swim in this. I’ll just take my shoes off.” 

The rest of the swim team ignores the comment, clamoring for the swim to begin, and despite Killua’s frown, he nods and turns his attention to the other six members. “One of you idiots better set the timer!” 

One of them snorts. “Got it, captain!” 

Gon bites down a laugh. 

Both of them position themselves at the edge of the pool, leaning forward and down, and as soon as one of the swim team members shouts  _ go _ , both of them are diving into the water, zero hesitation to plunge into the water. The water is cold, really cold, and it chills Gon to the bone, but it’s a feeling he welcomes.

For a moment, it feels like he’s home on Whale Island again. 

Even if the chlorine water leaves a horrible smell. 

And with Killua’s expertise in swimming, he technically should be better at Gon—with technique and practice and all the works of it. But Gon was an avid swimmer as a child. He threw himself into lakes and rivers and often walked the shores of the island to swim before the tides rose. 

Which leaves Killua absolutely in the dust behind him, as Gon pushes and kicks his feet in his own style of swimming— eliminates the jerk cost of his own body in the water. By the time he rises for air, he’s completed the run back, and Killua is by his side two seconds later. 

The team cheers, and Killua is once again pushing himself up and out of the pool effortlessly—reaching out to offer a hand for Gon to grab. His hair is dripping, and he’s huffing, trying to catch his breath, and the sight leaves Gon feeling a little winded himself. He swallows, taking Killua’s hand. 

The breeze that does filter through the air chills him, and as they all laugh together—joking about Killua’s form, or Gon’s high-speed swimming which puts frogs to shame—Killua swings his arm around Gon’s neck, bringing him close, until Killua’s bare chest is pressed against Gon’s side. 

Gon stiffens, and he can feel the flush slowly take over his face, dipping his ears in red and neck in an ombre of red to honey brown.

That day, under the sun’s bright beams and the cloudless blue sky, Gon instructs some of the team members on better ways to hold their breath, to breathe every three strokes and keep their feet pointed like the ballerina’s do—

—and misses the fond smile that Killua sends tumbling his way. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Gon is waiting outside the classroom, leaning against the wall and scrolling through his phone when Killua finally does emerge from the room. He’s ruffling his hair tiredly, yawning as he walks with one hand in his pocket. 

“Hey.” 

Gon smiles, pushes himself off the wall to stand idly beside him.

“How’d the meeting go?” 

Killua groans, already walking, looking beside him to make sure that Gon is following. “Tiring as usual. The faculty has concerns over the Valentine’s Day events I’ve proposed, but I think I managed to win the majority over.” 

A hum. “The dance and friendship event?” 

“Mm. A lot of students requested those two events though. So I want to make sure they get their choice.” 

Gon smiles—feels the fondness spread all over his body like a blanket of warmth—knows that Killua is truly kind at heart, and wants to please all the students to the best of his ability. His hands twitch with the need to reach out and kiss Killua’s cheek. 

“When will they tell you what they decided on?” 

“They said they’d send me an email, so—I really don’t know.” 

They both share a laugh, walking side by side, exiting the main building and heading down the sidewalk to Gon’s house—passing the security guard who waves from the parking lot, and the few students who loiter after hours, awaiting their rides home.

“How’s the letter going? You haven’t brought it up.” 

Gon grows embarrassed—remembers Killua’s sour expression upon leaving his house Monday afternoon. The anxiety of it all leaves small tremors running in his hands. 

“You, uh, you looked upset on Monday.” Gon sticks out his tongue. “And I didn’t want to force you to do something you didn’t want to. If you don’t want to help, that’s fine.” 

Killua frowns, before smacking Gon’s shoulder. 

“Kil-lu-a!” Gon whines. 

“First off—” Killua ignores him. “I offered to help. I wouldn’t help you if I didn’t want to, idiot. Second—I looked upset because I was getting a bad feeling about something. Turns out Alluka had gotten hurt at school. I have pretty awesome big brother intuition, right?” 

He turns to grin at Gon, but Gon had paused to gawk at him—straying a little behind him. 

“Is—Is Alluka alright?!” 

The question seems to catch Killua off-guard because his cheeks tint just a light tinge of pink. He nods, quickly turning to look away. “Of course she is! She just scraped her knee. She’s fine.”

He’s already turning away from Gon, continuing his walk down the sidewalk, and Gon makes a noise of shock, quickly following after him.

“I’m glad she’s fine!” And Gon’s sunny smile brightens Killua’s own disposition. He keeps quiet, eyes averted, looking down at the sidewalk as they near Gon’s house.

The day is annoyingly bright and cloudless. 

And Gon’s room is in a  _ much _ better state than the Monday Killua had come over. It was cleaned, with no stray papers, and the bed was made, and his desk was cluster free. Gon can see the way Killua seems to internally sigh in relief. The white-haired boy sits on his bed, at the edge—crosses his legs and scrolls through his phone for a second before setting it down. 

“Okay, so, give it to me. Lemme see what you’ve worked on.”

Gon flushes and nods, reaching for the nearly-now-flat notebook in his bag, missing well over half of its pages. Killua gawks at the skinniness of the thing.

“Jesus, Gon. You went to town on it.” 

A nervous laugh. “I’m really never satisfied with what I write but I think I’m getting closer though and what we left off on was good, I just can’t make it better and—”

Killua makes a shushing sound, snatching the book from Gon’s hands. “You’re rambling. Lemme read it.” 

Gon sits down on the desk chair before Killua begins reading aloud. His embarrassment grows tenfold hearing Killua’s voice usher the words secretly meant for  _ him _ .

“Everything about you is easy to like. You’re so incredible—you make my heart grow bigger, until there’s a funny feeling in my stomach. You make my smile wider and my days brighter. And I’ve really, really, really liked you for so long that I can’t remember when I even started liking you.” Killua pauses as he reads, staring at the words for a little longer than necessary, and Gon doesn’t know if he’s trying to decipher his chicken-scrawl handwriting or  _ what _ .

After a moment's pause, he continues:

“But it’s hard to be so close to you and not look at you more than a friend. And it’s really really hard not to kiss you. I don’t think there was ever a time where I didn’t like you. I guess I’ve always liked you since we were kids. You changed everything for me.”

There’s a brief moment where Killua doesn’t even look up. He just stares at the letter, unblinking, and Gon nearly gets worried—before Killua’s blue eyes are moving up and meeting his, and he’s smiling. 

“It’s better than last time, for sure.” 

Gon’s eyes sparkle.

“But you still need to fix your grammar. And handwriting. Like, you used the possessive determiner ‘ _ its’  _ and not the contraction ‘ _ it is’ _ .” Killua taps the end of the page. “And it ends kind of weird. What exactly does everything mean?” 

Gon flushes, and averts his eyes. “Just… everything.” 

“Haa?” Killua makes a noise of incredulity. “I have no idea what that means, idiot.” 

Gon pouts, leaning back into his chair. “Fine, then how would  _ you _ write it?”

A sudden flush overtakes Killua’s features, and he sputters—looks away and scratches his cheek in thought. 

“Uhm…” His voice trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Do you really need to know?” 

“Yes! I want to know!” He whines, straightening up to look at Killua. 

It’s quiet for a second, Killua’s hands clenching and unclenching, before they fist the mattress, and he’s looking to the side in absolute embarrassment. “Alright, well… I’d say something like...” He hesitates, before closing his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath.

“For years I’ve been smitten over your cute smile—I love the way your nose scrunches when you smile, and the way your cheeks tinge red at the slightest of things. Every time you speak, butterflies swarm my stomach and the words I had prepared to tell you clutter and choke my throat. I wanted to say it for so long, but was always afraid to, and every time I think I can do it, you make my tongue twist and heart beat erratically. I really like you—I hope that’s okay.” 

And Gon can only stare in awe, unaware of the way his own face heats up. Killua’s face is crimson, his ears tinted in a similar hue, and the flush extends all the way down to his neck. Gon thinks Killua looks pretty when he’s like this—eyes averted and standing out against the warm color of his usual cool-toned skin. 

“Woah…” 

Blue meets hazel, and Killua is rubbing his hands anxiously across his thighs—up and down and up and down. And—and Gon feels the same way. Because Killua spoke so fluidly, and so perfectly, and Gon felt his heart beat faster but also sink at the prospect that the words  _ weren’t _ for him. They were just an example. That these are words Killua will one day say to one of the girls in their class who fawn over him endlessly, probably.

If his letter gets rejected.

“Killua.” Gon leans forward, palms on his knees, staring straight at Killua. “If you ever confess to a girl, she’s going to be so lucky.” 

A nervous chuckle, and Killua is rubbing his neck. “Right… a girl...”

Silence extends. With Gon staring at Killua, and Killua nervously looking everywhere other than  _ at _ him. Gon wonders why. Thinks through every little reason—maybe he hadn’t wanted to give such an example. The gears turn in Gon’s head until it threatens to make him steam out. 

“Anyway!” Killua’s voice is an octave higher than usual. “Are you planning on giving this girl anything else other than the card?”

“The girl?...” Gon mumbles, before it occurs to him what Killua is talking about. “Yuh—Yeah! Of course.” A nervous giggle. 

Killua stares at him. “So?...” he says, “What’s your big idea?”

Gon fiddles with his hands while speaking. “I was thinking, well, I thought that making chocolates would be nice? She really likes chocolates. Maybe make her like a variety of different chocolates? But mainly milk chocolate? I don’t know. She really likes sweets.” 

He misses the way Killua stills, too far into his ramble to notice. 

“But the problem is that I really don’t know how to bake. Or make chocolate. And I’m really scared of messing up—and I don’t want to ask Aunt Mito because she’s always tired when she gets back from work.”

Not a beat passes before Killua speaks up. “I’ll help you.” 

Gon freezes. Gawks at Killua—feels the blood rush to his cheeks. Because...because Killua was  _ already  _ helping him. And this was a confession  _ for _ Killua. Gon stammers, bites his lip and stands to wave his hands frantically.

“Killua, it’s fine—I can… I can manage myself!” 

Killua makes a face. “Like hell you can. Plus—who’s the chocolate enthusiast here? Me. Face it, you kinda need me there.” 

“You just want free chocolate.” Gon pouts, crossing his arms, and Killua snorts. 

“Sounds like a perk, sure.” 

Gon smiles wide.

“I’ll come over tomorrow and we can make them then.”

Killua’s voice is soft. So soft, and tender, and gentle. Gon has a hard time coping with it. 

“Really? You really don’t mind, Killua?” 

“Nope. You had me at free chocolate. What’s there to mind?” 

Gon giggles outright—the type of giggle where he covers his mouth with his hand and laughs innocently and childishly. Even now, Killua’s personality makes a garden of butterflies go flying in his stomach. And without even thinking about it, he’s hugging Killua, pressing the other boy close with a smile—feeling his warmth spread, and resting his chin on Killua’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Killua.” 

From his proximity, Gon doesn’t notice the way Killua’s face reddens. The way he swallows before speaking. 

“Yeah. No problem.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“You’re a disaster.” 

The kitchen counter is covered in cocoa powder and sugar, with pieces of butter falling off the plates and chunks of mixture pooling on the tabletop. Killua sits, staring at Gon amusedly, a cheeky grin on his lips, and he has his chin propped on the palm of his hand—watching as Gon stands, tongue sticking out, a concentrated furrow on his brows. 

“This is fine!”

Killua deadpans. “Right.” 

It takes Gon spilling the mixture  _ again _ , making a noise of distress, before Killua is hopping off the barstool and standing. As he’s walking over to Gon, he picks up the cocoa butter and powder, and the sugar, and milk—gently places the ingredients on the counter near Gon.

“C’mere. Where’s the salt?”

“Salt?” 

“Yes, the salt, Gon.”

A pause. Gon stares at Killua blankly.

“What do we need salt for?” 

Gon sees the way Killua feels like slamming his head against the table in defeat—or slam  _ his head against the table _ . Laughter tumbles out of Gon’s throat until he’s doubling over, and Killua is chuckling, too. 

“We need salt to enhance the sweetness of the chocolates—idiot.” 

Pale hands reach up to the cupboard, taking out the salt container from inside and aggressively placing it on the table. 

“Here—I can’t believe your dumbass making chocolate without a pinch of salt.” 

The stove is already hot, and the pan is simmering, waiting patiently for the powder and chopped butter.

Gon doesn’t even get the chance to get back into making the mixture, because Killua is walking up and behind him, hands coming around his waist to grip onto his hands—to maneuver his hands at a pace where Gon can learn. He can feel Killua’s breath on his neck, his chest pressed into his back, and Gon flusters within seconds. 

“Look.” Killua’s voice is soft and barely above a whisper. “Just stir it slowly.” 

Killua’s words tickle his nape, and Gon shuts his eyes tightly—furrows his eyebrows and presses his lips together as his face reddens even more. His hands are atop his, gripping Gon’s hands, and at that moment, Gon thinks that lying about confessing to a girl made this moment well worth. If—if he could let Killua stay like this with him. 

_ He’s so close. _

He can have this, right?

Just a little? He can allow himself to bask in this happiness and warmth—just, just in case Killua completely rejects him. 

Gon is selfish. 

He relaxes his posture, leans a little into Killua. 

The proximity makes Gon a little anxious to confess—wears down his hesitancy and restraint like a file. 

His throat feels dry.

And that’s all it takes for Killua to pause behind him, hands stiffening, breath stopping, and he’s quickly letting go of Gon’s hands and stumbling away, averting his eyes—a light flush on his cheeks. 

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. And Gon can’t meet his gaze either, so he opts to just stare at the chocolate slowly melt into a mixture. Slowly, Killua comes around and takes the pot off the stove, instructs Gon to ready the molds for the fridge. Once it sets, Killua takes a spoon from the drawer to scrap at the leftover chocolate in the pot. 

“C’mere. Try it.” He extends the spoon out to Gon, who carefully takes a bite and feels his mouth water at the taste. He makes a noise of awe. 

“It tastes good!” 

And he’s grinning, giggling happily. 

Killua remains silent, but a tender smile crosses his lips before he’s leaning forward and swiping his thumb across the corner of Gon’s mouth. Gon can’t even stop the flush that spreads like wildfire across his entire face. The way his ears turn red, and cheeks heat up. His fingers tremble and lips quiver.

“You had some chocolate on the side of your mouth.” 

He’s licking the smear of chocolate from his hand, and his eyes light up. “Woah, it does taste good!” 

Gon’s face heats up redder than the silicone mold—dusting his face all the way down to his neck, and he sputters.

_ Calm down, calm down, calm down. _

“Kil-lu-a!” 

Killua hums, grinning. 

And the kitchen grows quiet. The clock reads nearly eight, and Killua is placing the molds of chocolate in the freezer. With a tired sigh, Gon is taking all the used items and placing them in the sink, running the faucet on hot to clean them. Killua doesn’t even give him a chance to grab the soap—he’s up and pushing Gon away from the sink within seconds. 

“Go sit at the counter. I’ll wash the dishes.” 

“Ah, but, Killua—”

“You look exhausted for making a five minute sweet, idiot. I’ll clean up.” The words hold no malice, and Gon won’t deny that he’s exhausted, more-so mentally than physically. 

Gon mumbles something incoherent, sits down at the barstool and watches Killua as he starts scrubbing away at the plates in silence. With the warmth that surrounds him, Gon feels close to falling asleep. But he stays awake, and watches the plates and bowls and pans slowly disappear and dwindle in size. 

He watches as Killua’s arms flex, and he taps his foot, humming a low tone that soothes Gon and lulls him into comfort more than he cares to admit. 

The faucet shuts with a squeak, and Gon hears it, hears Killua step closer, rather than see it. Deft fingers run through his hair, and Gon picks up his head, mumbling something incoherent. The fingers shrink back quickly. 

“Hey…” 

Killua’s voice is soft. 

Gon likes the sound of it. 

“I should get going, you need to sleep.”

Gon  _ doesn't  _ like the sound of that. 

He makes a sound of protest, and Killua snorts. 

“What, huh? You going to convince me to stay with throaty rumbles?”

That gets a smile out of Gon—cracks it out of him, and barely open eyes lift up to look at Killua’s smiling form. He whines. 

Another chuckle. Fingers come to pinch Gon’s cheeks and pull at them. “C’mon, what type of convincing is that? I’ll pick up my shit and go. Tell Mito I said hi.” 

As soon as Killua is turning, Gon reaches out, vision spinning just a little from the sudden exertion, and his hands struggle to grip Killua’s wrist with any actual force. If Killua wanted, he could tear away from Gon’s grasp with just walking a little further. Gon is reaching over the counter, one arm propped to hold him up, and he’s looking at Killua with eyes a little too serious, a little too pleading, for the situation at hand. 

He speaks the words without really considering them: “Sleep over.”

The effect is instant: Killua’s cheeks redden. His mouth slackens, and his eyes widen, and he struggles to meet Gon’s gaze—looking everywhere  _ but _ him. His eyes trail to the hand gripping his wrist, and finally, after seconds at end waiting, they lock with Gon’s. 

“You’re so…” Killua mutters, but he can’t finish. “Where would I even sleep?”

Gon doesn’t hesitate to answer. “We can share my bed like when we were kids.” 

The flush on Killua’s checks darkens—a pretty crimson that makes Gon’s heart pick up its pace exponentially. 

When he gets no response, he adds, “And I’ll ask Mito to bake you your favorite cookies tomorrow! So stay, please?” 

Gon isn’t aware of the way his eyes sparkle, the way they hold a gleam that makes Killua weak at his knees. 

The other boy swallows, and nods. 

“Yeah, alright.” It’s a small utterance—gentle words that are barely above a whisper, breathy in their own way.

A giggle, and Gon is standing despite his tired state—keeps his grip on Killua’s wrist and drags him up the stairs. The stairs creak and groan in protest of their thundering steps, hurried and not-at-all quiet. The door to Gon’s room is already open, and he turns to smile at Killua. 

“It’s been a while since you slept over, hasn’t it?” 

Killua hums. 

Slowly, Gon releases the grip on Killua’s wrist and opens his closet door. 

“I still have some of your spare clothing—I don’t know if it fits, though.” 

“We’ll find out now, I guess.” A hand reaches from behind Gon, tipping the shirt and joggers from off the hanger. 

And the outfit does, in fact, fit—barely. But it fits! And Gon only realizes the error of his ways when they’re squeezing together to sleep on Gon’s small, twin-sized bed—nearly pressed together, shoulders touching, elbows overlapping. Gon feels himself blush in the darkness of the room. 

Gosh—and he’s laying near the very edge of the bed to avoid pestering Killua too much. He should’ve—he should’ve thought this through. What if… What if Killua wasn’t comfortable with this? Even if they were touchy before, he’d seemed hesitant now—maybe because they were older? 

Gon isn’t sure. 

He turns slowly, ready to apologize, but Killua is asleep. Utterly asleep, eyes closed, chest rising slowly, and Gon is so close he can count the dark lashes that decorate and span against the boy’s pale skin.

_ He looks peaceful. _

And really, really pretty. 

Gon stomps down the feeling that rises in his chest—stomps down on the urge to reach out and touch Killua’s face. 

Instead, he forces his eyes shut, and falls into the clutches of sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When Gon stirs awake, he can’t see.

At first, he’s disoriented. 

Because his face is pressed into something. He’s pressed into something, and he’s really warm, and his legs are tangled with something else. For a moment, he forgets Killua had slept over at all—until he can finally register the warm hands around his waist, wrapped tightly, and he realizes his own hands are enveloping a body.

_ Killua’s body _ . 

It takes all of Gon’s self-restraint not to scramble away.

_ He’s pressed into Killua’s chest _ —he realizes. 

And he can feel his heartbeat and hear his breathing. 

Gon’s legs are a tangled mess, entwined with Killua’s. 

Gon stiffens. 

This feels wrong—This… this feels so wrong. 

The hands around his waist tighten, pull closer, and Gon pushes a little, just an inch, lifts his face from within the confines of Killua’s chest to look up. His eyes are shut. Good—he’s asleep. He’s asleep, he doesn’t know this happened. Gon’s heart is doing somersaults, and his chest feels like it's caging an entire species of butterflies, all threatening to slip through the carefully crafted confines of his ribs—threaten to spill out and make him do things he shouldn’t. 

He wants to be selfish. A little. To indulge in this moment. But it's wrong of him. He shouldn’t. 

The thoughts conflict. 

Killua’s breathing isn’t regular. 

His heartbeat isn’t steady—Gon wonders if he’s having a bad dream. 

Gently, as quietly and slowly as he can, he undoes the arms linked around him. Killua doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t stir or make a noise of complaint. Gon smiles—treading his way off the bed with careful steps, doesn’t lift himself off the bed until one foot is firmly planted on the floor and he’s sure the bed won’t squeak. 

And he can’t help himself.

Because Gon is selfish. 

And if Killua is having a bad dream, then he wants to soothe him—even if this isn’t the right way. 

He leans over Killua, his shadow covering the light that slips in from the slightly drawn windows. As lulling, as softly as he can, he presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. Doesn’t say anything—in fear of waking him—and quickly steps off the bed, turning to make his way downstairs to the bathroom. 

Gon misses the way Killua’s eyes snap open, face drenched in red—lips quivering and fingers trembling. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Gon’s world comes to a screeching halt on the Monday of Valentine’s Day. 

It happens when Killua and him are walking to class, laughing with each other, Killua playfully shoving his shoulder—and it’s nowhere near for the first bell to ring, but they’re walking to Gon’s class early because Killua  _ always  _ drops Gon off at his class before walking to his own at the other side of the school. 

There’s a girl approaching Killua, blushing pink and holding a card and box of chocolates. Her hair is swept down, flowing and long and dark and pretty—her skin is pale and perfect, and for a moment Gon freezes. She’s stepping into their path, bowing her head deeply and holding the chocolates out for Killua, who pauses to look at her. 

His eyes are tender. 

Gon knows it’s just to be nice but—

—he doesn’t like it. 

“Uhm…” She stammers, trails off pathetically, “Killua, I like you, and, uhm, I was hoping you’d accept these.” 

Killua stares. 

He gives her a gentle smile, and she’s shifting from one foot to another, eyes averted—hands shaking just a little.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. “I can’t accept these.”

Gon’s heart selfishly pools into relief. 

The girl looks close to tears before she sighs, laughing quietly and shaking her head. 

“It’s fine. I knew this was going to happen—would you… would you take the chocolates at least?” 

And Gon realizes with a start, that this is eerily similar to what he planned to do. That  _ this _ is how he planned on confessing to Killua—and, and Killua rejected this girl so cooly, that  _ what _ separates him from this girl? 

Killua rejecting him is a concept he’d been toying with in his mind. He’d considered it and turned it every which way. And it’s scary—it’s really scary—when he thinks that it can completely ruin what he has with Killua, what he  _ has had _ for the past near-eight years. 

“I’m sorry—I can’t accept the chocolates. I, uh…” Killua pauses and scratches his cheek. “I have a boyfriend. And it would be wrong of me to accept these.”

The words are spoken so gently, so tenderly, and with so much love, and Gon feels himself paling. Gon feels the way his hearts sink—utterly sinks and rots away into a pool of nothing—and he feels his breath stolen from him, feels the way his chest constraints and his hand’s quiver. The butterfly garden in his stomach rots away.

_ What? _

The girl gasps; she’s apologizing profusely within seconds—asking for Killua’s forgiveness and understanding that she didn’t know. 

Gon didn’t know either. 

And Gon is Killua’s best friend. 

The feeling only sinks further into his stomach—makes itself known. 

Gon had liked,  _ has liked _ , Killua for years—even if he wasn’t aware of it until recently. He’d been sitting on these feelings, so afraid of Killua’s rejection, of Killua thinking he was a weirdo—had imagined Killua making a face of disgust, or laughing nervously, and no longer hanging out with him. 

_ Killua liked boys.  _

_ Killua liked boys, Gon hadn’t known—Gon had lost his chance.  _

He missed his chance to confess. 

“Well—uhm…” The girl’s voice is shaky, and she’s flushing red—voice an octave higher than it originally was. “Your secret's safe with me!” 

He smiles appreciatively and nods, and she’s rushing away on hurried steps, box of chocolates still in her hands. 

Gon feels nauseous. 

This week already has a bad start.

His steps are too heavy, uncalculated and moving, and he doesn’t feel like he’s moving. But he is. He’s moving—KIllua by his side, and they’re both quiet. He opens his mouth to speak.

“Killua!” 

Another girl is coming up. 

“There’s a quick meeting regarding the events you proposed. The staff decided to hold one before class, and they need you there!”

He looks at Gon, and then at the girl. Shuts his mouth and sighs. 

“They have to do this now?” Killua asks, and even though his voice isn’t annoyed, Gon knows he’s a little distressed. Gon wonders why. 

“There’s a mandatory faculty meeting for teachers after school, so yeah, they want to do the meeting now.” 

Killua huffs, waving her off with a smile. “Alright. Tell them I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The girl nods and takes her leave, and Killua turns to Gon once again. 

“I, uhm, I’ll see you later, okay?” 

Gon nods numbly. “Yeah. Alright.” 

A furrow of his eyebrows, and Killua leans a little closer. 

Gon takes a step back unconsciously. 

He thinks he imagines the hurt that flashes on Killua’s face. 

Silence. “Alright…” 

All that Gon has left of Killua is the noise of his sneakers on the tile floor—his form fading down the empty hall. 

The lump in his throat threatens to choke him. 

Gon’s heart is still; unbeating and dead. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


For the first time ever, in the history of his school records, Gon leaves early. 

He doesn’t even survive twenty minutes into the first class of the day—can’t stand the feeling that only bubbles more and more and more. His hands tremble, and his eyes are watery, in near tears, and the only thing keeping him from crying is the students around him. 

Gon won’t survive through AP Spanish Language and Culture today—knows he won’t—because it’s a heavy reminder of Killua. He thinks of Killua as the teacher drones on in Spanish. He remembers Killua’s soft, hesitant voice—speaking gently, eyes averted, voice coated in a thick accent. His lips quiver and he looks down. 

Puts his head down, covering his face with his hands, before he’s reaching into his bag and pulling out his phone. He doesn’t care that it’s prohibited to have his phone out. He needs—he needs to get out. The lump at his throat is choking him. 

He’s dialing Aunt Mito’s number, and stepping out of the class quietly, under the guise of going to the restroom. When she picks up the phone, not a single ring into the call, Gon speaks.

“Aunt Mito?” 

Gon didn’t know his voice sounded so defeated. 

“I know you’re working but—can you pick me up?” 

Mito is there, at Gon’s school, within ten minutes. And Gon had already packed his things in class—hadn’t bothered to take out his pencils or binder for note-taking, or set down his bag. He’d only waited—until Mito texted him that she was in the attendance office and that he could come down—to which Gon has never announced his leave faster.

And he’s able to withhold his tears when he sees her, standing there, standing and tapping her foot. She’s given back her license before she can sign Gon out, and she takes his hand into hers, holding it tightly, tugging on it so he looks at her while she thanks the office aide for their time.

Until they’re stepping off the school campus. 

“Gon,” Her voice is gentle. “What’s wrong?” 

And the damn breaks. 

His lips wobble, and he sucks in a sharp breath—before the tears are streaming and he’s crying and gripping her hand tighter, hugging her tightly. 

“Aunt Mito—” He sniffles, voice crackling. “I’m sorry—I’m really sorry.”

“Gon—” Her voice is surprised, eyes wide, and her hands are slack around him before she’s pulling him into the car. “Gon,  _ ¿Qué pasa, hijo? _ ”

Gon swallows. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry for liking boys. I’m really sorry I’m not normal—like, like everyone else. I wish I could like girls the other boys do—but, but I can’t! And, and, I really, really liked Killua but—” 

He’s falling into a ramble, unable to express himself clearly, and Mito is quick to calm his anxieties—bringing her arms up to pull him into a hug, to hold him tightly in her arms as he chokes on his own tears. 

“Gon, it’s alright.” She starts, “It’s alright,  _ nene _ . Don’t apologize for that. Let’s go home, okay?” 

And her voice is gentle, tender and soft and soothing—it’s a sound that calms the roaring blood in Gon’s ears and placates the rapid beating of his heart. He nods somberly, eyebrows furrowed, and it’s not until they’re home that Gon is shooting a text over to Killua—explaining his early dismissal from school. 

To: estrella

9:02 a.m.:  _ hey killua i left home early i didnt feel well sorry _

Gon sets his phone down on his lap, not expecting Killua to reply quickly—he’s probably in his important AP classes. He knows that Killua can get in a lot of trouble for having his phone out in those college-level lectures. But—the reply is nearly instant.

From: estrella

9:02 a.m.:  _ Are you alright? You never leave early.  _

The overwhelming feeling returns to his chest. Gon stifles a cry with a torn smile. Another message comes in.

From: estrella

9:03 a.m.:  _ I can walk to your house after class is over.  _

Gon feels a panic rise within him at the prospect of seeing Killua so soon. Not when—not when...

To: estrella

9:03 a.m.:  _ no its fine i think im just sick and i don’t want you to get sick. _

From: estrella

9:04 a.m.:  _ I’ll bring a mouth mask if you’re that paranoid. I can stop by with your favorite snacks and some soup.  _

Gon bites his lip, gnaws on his bottom lip until it hurts. 

To: estrella

9:05 a.m.:  _ no really its fine, i just need to rest like aunt mito said. ill see you in class. _

A reply doesn’t come in for a while. Gon sets down his phone, laying sideways on his bed, and stares blankly at the black screen. It’s not until Mito comes in, holding a tray with Gon’s favorite dessert of  _ natilla _ , that his phone pings with another alert from Killua. 

Gentle hands take the phone away—place the tray at the edge of the bed.

Mito’s voice is lulling. “Eat first,  _ nene _ .” 

The bed dips with the weight of her form as she sits next to his curled-up body. 

“‘M not hungry.” Gon mumbles and pushes his face further into his pillow. 

Mito hums. “I know. But you didn’t have breakfast, and I made your favorite snack, mmh?” 

In the silence, she brings her hand to brush away the stray tears clinging to his cheeks and lashes with her thumb. Gon’s face is blotched, nose tinted crimson, eyes irritated red. He picks up his head to look at her, lips pressed together. And Mito is digging the spoon into the vanilla custard, making sure it takes some of the cinnamon powder layered atop, and holds it out for Gon to take a bite. 

Hesitantly, he opens his mouth to take a bite. He chews quietly, internally willing himself not to cry again. Mito hands him the spoon and lets her arm come around his shoulder to pull him close—to hug him—until his head is resting against her chest.

“I took today off from work, okay?” She says, soft-spoken—voice barely above a whisper.

Gon makes a noise of approval. “Okay.” He says softly. 

His throat hurts. 

Mito lets her fingers wander, gently threads them through Gon’s hair, until she leans forward and presses a loving kiss to his temple. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Gon doesn’t go to school the next day.

He cries because he’s happy for Killua—will always be, but also cries for what he could’ve  _ maybe  _ had, if the apprehension hadn’t been there.

The chocolates sit in the freezer as a heavy reminder. 

Gon doesn’t know what to do with these feelings anymore. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Returning to school on Wednesday is easier than it would’ve been on Tuesday. 

Gon feels a little lighter—although the notion that Killua has a boyfriend weighs heavy on him. 

He supposes he doesn’t have a reason to be upset—there’s really no valid reason. 

_ But how long did Killua have a boyfriend, and why didn’t he tell him? _

On his walk to class, there are a few people discussing the upcoming Valentine's Day events—and Gon assumes that the school must’ve finally approved the two events Killua had pitched at the meetings for weeks now. There’s chatter, and a bubble of excitement seems to coil down the halls of the school buildings. 

Absentmindedly, Gon smiles. 

Although he realizes his absence means he didn’t get tickets for the event—he’s fine with staying in class. 

That’s fine. 

He can make friendship bracelets with Killua on their own time.

Gon should probably cut back on hugging Killua too much—he doesn’t want Killua’s boyfriend to get upset with him.

The words still leave him a little choked up. 

When the announcement rings over the speaker system of every class, most of the students are hurrying to stand and run out of the class—showing off their event ticket to make it outside to the campus lawn, where tables have been set up and blankets have been set on the ground. 

Gon sits in the near-empty class, chin on his palm and looking out the window, when his phone rings. 

From: estrella

7:53 a.m.:  _ Are you here today? _

A smile graces his lips. 

To: estrella

7:54 a.m.:  _ yeah!! everyone left for the event, so im in class with like five other students only _

There’s a knock on the classroom door before it’s opening, and Gon looks over to see Killua standing there—yellow slip in his hand, two tickets in the other. He looks at the teacher. 

“Gon never picked up his ticket, is it fine if he can go to the event?” 

The teacher nods, not looking up from the computer. 

“Ah, but, Killua, I never—” 

Killua presses his index finger to his lips, and Gon has to force himself to not let his vision stay there for more than three seconds.  _ One, two, three. _ He looks up to meet Killua’s gaze. 

“C’mon, grab your stuff—the event will finish right as first period ends.” 

Stepping out of the classroom is a test in and of itself, because Killua is holding onto Gon’s wrist and pulling him along, and Gon has to repeat the words in his head that hurt so much:  _ Killua has a boyfriend, Killua has a boyfriend, Killua has a— _

“Are you listening?” 

Gon makes a noise of confusion. 

Killua deadpans, pausing right as he pushes open the doorway to the stairs. “Idiot. I said that I got you tickets to this event and the dance since you weren’t here for the sales. How are you feeling?”

“Buh—better!” Gon stumbles over his words. “I still feel a little under the weather, though.” 

Blue eyes soften, gentle and tender, before Killua lets go of Gon’s wrist and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking down the flight of stairs. 

The sky shines in, blue and bright and cloudless, through the windows decorating the entire expanse of the staircase. 

“We’d better hurry. I set up a spot under a tree with some supplies for making the bracelets.” 

Gon hums and feels the fluttering of his heart. 

Downstairs, on the first floor, they exit through the backdoor and walk around the building to the open lawn. There are already dozens of students outside chatting, a few pairs around each other, people sitting at the temporary tables, others having brought blankets to sit on the grass. A couple of teachers are supervising the event. 

“C’mere.” Killua starts, and tangles his fingers with Gon’s once again to pull him towards an empty blanket under a tree. 

And Gon recognizes that blanket. Recognizes the pastel blue fabric, faded and worn from years of disuse, little embroideries of Killua and Gon’s names etched into the corners, small hearts and stars patched on at their request by Aunt Mito. 

Gingerly, Gon reaches out to deftly run his fingers on the fabric. 

Killua sits on it, cross-legged, making a noise of complaint. 

Gon looks up, a small smile on his lips. “You getting old?” 

He frowns, before glaring. “You’re older than me, idiot. If anyone’s old here, it’s you.” 

A chuckle. Gon’s fingers haven’t stopped gently patting the cloth—and Killua notices, eyes shifting down to look at it. 

“See something you remember?” He asks, all cheeky, with a grin on his face that Gon  _ really _ wants to kiss. 

Gon sits on the cloth, brings his gaze down to stare at the memories. “I can’t believe you’ve kept this all this time.” 

Killua flushes, averting his gaze, keeping his hands busy by taking out the bracelets and beads he’d chosen from a small, pre-arranged bag. There are so many colors: white, blue, red, green, pink, yellow—beads with different symbols, and hearts, and words. The strings are long and uncut, and a pair of scissors is at the center of the blanket. 

“Why would I throw out our blanket? We used it all the time.” His voice is soft.

Gon pretends not to flush at the word  _ our _ mentioned so casually. He sticks out his tongue in embarrassment, grabs a blue string while peering at the beads. He reaches out for the letters  _ e-s-t-r-e-l-l-a _ . There’s enough to make the word he wants.

“I know, it’s just—I don’t know…” Gon’s voice trails off. 

Silence between them; laughter around them.

Gon reaches out, tapping Killua’s wrist for him to come closer. “Let me measure how big to make this.” 

Killua listens: one hand out, the other picking beads. Gon strings the piece around his wrist, makes it a little loose—just enough for Killua to be able to slip it on without a problem. The blue string will look nice with clear beads and black lettering. 

There are little star beads, with the option to pick either painted or clear, and Gon reaches for the tiny clear ones to string alongside the letters. He makes a knot on one end as Killua continues to pick out beads.

“You’re being picky.” Gon observes.

Killua huffs. “Wouldn’t you know.” 

A snort. 

“Give me your hand, gimme.” Killua doesn’t even give Gon a chance to offer his hand because Killua is reaching out to tug him a little forward, working carefully to snip the yellow string once he gets the measurement he wants. Gon watches as he threads a similarly long orange thread with the yellow one—entwines them into one mesh of color which he then loops three letter beads through, and smiles to himself. 

It takes a lot for Gon not to reach out, push down Killua’s hands and kiss him. 

He barely restrains himself when such a delicate smile graces Killua’s lips. 

Killua picks up red circular beads—puts them at the very end of each letter. 

“I bought you some soda, by the way,” Killua says, not looking up from the bracelet, and Gon hums. “It’s in my bag.” 

Gon does as told—reaches for Killua’s bag and opens it. Lo and behold, a can of soda, and a bottle of red Gatorade. Gon doesn’t know if he can resist the temptation of Killua’s lips dyed a prominent red once again. 

The can opens with a hissing pop, and Gon leans back, one hand propped up as he watches Killua carefully knot the bracelet together. 

Completed. 

_ There’s still time before the bell rings for their next class. _

Killua smiles as he reaches out, grasping Gon’s wrist gently, and slowly pushing the bracelet on as if fearing the strings may snap. 

The bracelet is loose, but not so much where it might fall off if he’s not cautious. 

Orange and yellow, clear beads, red circles— _ “sol,” _ it reads. 

_ Sun _ . 

Gon flushes despite himself. 

Tries hard not to, and ultimately fails—

—it’s a lot like liking Killua. 

It’s really hard not to. 

He has to do something with these feelings…

When…When Killua has a  _ boyfriend _ , for goodness sake. 

Carefully, Gon slips on the bracelet he made for Killua onto his wrist, through the knotted, pale fingers, onto the thin wrist.

A grin bubbles onto Killua’s lips. “We really went for opposites didn’t we?”

In spite of Gon’s inner turmoil, he laughs—soft and gentle. “Yeah. Although, star and sun are basically the same thing.”

Killua hums, smugging. “Someone paying attention in science?” 

Gon whines. “I haven’t taken science since freshman year!” 

“Yeah, I know.” A hand comes up to ruffles Gon’s hair. “I’m the one who carried you through that entire class.” 

Gon pouts before an idea pops into his head. 

“Ah, Killua, put your arm out—let's take a picture! I wanna post it on my profile.” 

Red courses through Killua’s face, dyeing him a pretty red. It dusts his skin so prettily, Gon’s fingers twitch with the force needed to restrain coming up to cup his cheeks and squish. 

“You’re so embarrassing.” 

A giggle, and Killua is extending his arm out, but Gon shakes his head, pushing up to shift over to Killua across the blanket—he allows himself to lean against Killua in a false rush of courage, allows himself to indulge, just a little, and feel his warmth. 

He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to act like this. 

The thought leaves his heart sinking. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Valentine's Day is tomorrow. 

And Gon is sitting at the private table, alone and waiting for Killua to return, slowly undoing the knot on his plastic bag to take out the  _ pan con bistec _ —cut perfectly in the center. Killua is at the vending machines down the breezeway, getting their drinks, and Gon knows he’s been a little distant, but—but he has to get over himself. 

Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and Gon is internally panicking. 

The friendship bracelet Killua made him sits on his wrist, a reminder of their years together as friends. 

Killua is coming back—smiling and holding two drinks, calling out to Gon, and Gon’s heart quickens pathetically in his own chest. 

He wishes he could enjoy today like they always do—sit, and talk, and joke. Gon wishes he could press close to Killua and invade his space like he used to without the stuttering of his heart or the flushing of his cheeks. But he also  _ likes _ these feelings. He likes the idea of holding Killua’s hand, or kissing his cheek, or leaning into him with the pretense of something more. 

Killua sits, a grin on his face, and he’s sliding the can of soda to Gon. 

“Got you a new flavor to try.” 

Gon gives a small smile, nodding and humming. 

Killua leans over the table, reaching for his half of the sandwich. 

He makes a noise of amazement. “Mito made a sandwich with steak?”

Gon hums. He leans a little further from Killua’s form—tries not to be obvious.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t want to indulge. 

“Gon?”

A hum. 

Killua frowns. “Are you alright?” 

Gon isn’t looking at him. “Yeah...” His voice trails off. 

It grows quiet. 

The conversation stills—they eat in silence. Gon, taking slow bites of his sandwich, too far into his own thoughts to notice Killua not eating, and just staring. The boy’s features contort just slightly—lips tremble just slightly. He shuts his eyes and averts his gaze. 

“Gon…” 

Another hum. 

“Do you think I’m disgusting?”

Gon’s heart falters. 

He stops chewing,  _ finally _ meets Killua’s gaze. He stares in muted shock—forcing himself to swallow the half-chewed pieces of bread and meat. 

“Wuh—What?”

“Do you think I’m disgusting for liking boys?”

Frantically, Gon stares, waving his hands, mouth agape, eyes wide—and he can feel the flush spreading on his cheeks as he tries to put his thoughts into words because no, Killua wasn’t disgusting. Killua could never be disgusting—or gross, or any synonym that came close to it. Killua was far from it on the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Because Killua was light. 

Killua was perfect.

“No—No, Killua! I couldn’t ever think that of you.” Gon starts, shaking his head and pausing to lower his voice. “If you like buh—boys, and have a boyfriend, that’s fine. We’re best friends, I wouldn’t ever think that of you.”

But the silence is stifling. 

And Killua keeps his gaze averted, rubbing his arm, wordlessly picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. 

The tension is palpable, and the feeling makes Gon nervous—makes a feeling claw at his chest he doesn’t like. Quick movements, Gon is leaning forward until the edge of the table digs into his stomach and his body is pushing against the table to be closer to Killua. 

He scratches his cheek, elbow resting on the table, keeping his gaze away—finding interest in the trashcan by the tree, cheeks flushing as he thinks the words. “You’re disgustingly sweet and caring, if anything.” 

Killua’s eyes snap to him, eyes wide, but a small smile splays on his features before he bursts out laughing. 

And  _ wow _ . 

Gon’s heart pools pathetically—turns into a thick goop that melts and runs off more by the second. 

Killua’s laughter is a twinkling thing, small and precious, and his smile is so radiant—cheeks bunched up, brows furrowed and nose scrunched as he laughs. 

His laughter makes Gon laugh—unrestrained. It’s a huff of oxygen before full-blown laughter, and Gon is putting his forehead against the table because his stomach hurts from laughing so much— _ and Killua is still laughing, too _ . They both probably look ridiculous—or like complete lunatics. 

Gon is fine with that. 

A hand is coming up, fingers running through Gon’s hair to aggressively rub it. Gon freezes, knowing very well those are Killua’s fingers actively in his hair. The flush on his face isn’t visible because of his laughter, but it’s there. Gon knows because he can feel his heart skip a beat. 

“You’re—” Killua pauses to laugh, struggling to form a coherent sentence. “You’re so embarrassing. Don’t you have any shame, idiot?” 

Gon snorts, and he looks up to gaze at Killua: “Nope!’ 

_ This feels right.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s Valentine’s Day.

Gon awakens with a feeling of dread already having made its home at the pit of his stomach. 

Anxiety claws within him, and he trudges around the house as he gets ready for school—throws on his uniform, and a jacket, and he’s downstairs within ten minutes, slowly opening the fridge to look at the frozen chocolates. A little bit of the anxiety melts away.

Just a little. 

He still worries about how Killua will react. If he’ll be upset, or weirded out, or—

—he doesn’t know. 

Because Killua’s apparent boyfriend had been an unexpected force. An anomaly in the stars. 

Gon’s eyes wander to the bracelet around his wrist, and he smiles, pulling the chocolates out of the fridge and gently placing them in the red box he had bought at the store, perfectly wrapped in the glassine paper cups. Carefully, he shuts the lid of the container and twines his love letter onto the top. 

He smiles, remembering Killua’s satisfaction with the complete thing.

_ He hadn’t even known it was for him. _

When Gon is stepping outside, shutting the front door with his keys, he nearly startles at the sight of a figure waiting across the street, standing still. In the dark before sunrise, Gon nearly doesn’t recognize his best friend of seven years. Killua looks up and waves from across the street. 

Killua grins. “Hey.”

Gon feels himself flush, knowing what’s in his own hand. “Good morning.” 

Killua peers down at the container Gon holds, chuckling to himself as they continue their walk to school. A comfortable silence fills the air between them before Killua speaks.

“You won’t see me around today since I’m helping prepare for the dance.” 

A hum despite feeling a little disappointed—Gon will have to wait to give Killua his letter. 

“That’s fine. I guess this is a win for you since you’ll be skipping Spanish class.” 

Killua goes red—turning away, hiding his hands in his pockets and huffing aloud. “I’m not missing much from that class.”

Gon giggles. “You sent me a picture of the homework last night for help translating.” 

“Shut up!” Killua mutters, embarrassed—though there’s no bite to the words. 

He steps closer to Killua, until their shoulders are nearly brushing, and his voice is taunting. “ _ Estas un poco perdido _ .”

Just a little, not too obvious, Killua shifts away from Gon’s touch—despite laughing. 

The confusion hits Gon hard. 

He laughs despite his body language suggesting his discomfort. Killua hasn’t slung his arm around him or teased him. His voice is a little solemn, a little down, usually-chipper voice now an octave lower—a hint that something is  _ off _ . Gon doesn’t know what’s wrong, and he doesn’t know if it’s even his place to ask anymore. 

There are cars that pass by them as they walk down the street, in the darkness that slowly begins to fade into light, and the sunrise hits Killua’s form perfectly—illuminates him in a ray of light that forces Gon to look away and redirect his attention somewhere else. Because if not, he risks blowing the entire letter and just confessing right then and there. 

Gon misses the clench of Killua’s jaw. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s a buzzing of excitement that runs throughout all of Gon’s classes. Without fail, student after student makes a comment about the Valentine’s Day dance, and the prospect of dancing with their crush or confessing their feelings during the dance. 

Gon is left merely to hold onto the box of chocolates, grip it tighter, looking down embarrassedly when asked about who he was giving it to. 

His heart is hammering in his chest, hands shaken and state of mind disorientated when the PA system comes on to announce it was time for students to make their way to the gym for the dance. And nearly everyone is standing up after the notification also rings into their phones, scurrying to take out their ticket and show it to the teacher. 

He’s the last one to stand and reluctantly show his ticket to the teacher. 

“Don’t forget to do your homework, the entire lot of you. It’s due next class!” 

A noncommittal noise of agreement from most of the students stepping out, and the classroom door is shutting. 

Sneakers squeak against the tiles. 

And Gon diverges from the rest of the crowd—from the rest of the students who turn down the hall to exit through the door which leads to the gym, Gon goes the opposite way. He holds the chocolates tightly, face flushed as he thinks it. Over, and over, and over again. He makes his way to the oasis in the school, an older part of the school where weeds and vines grow against the wall, with a big tree in the center, cut off from its growth by concrete and metal tables. 

There are no windows—only the walls with peeling paint and the bright blue sky. 

And faintly, he can hear the music playing from the Valentine’s Day dance. He can hear the loud bass and the beats and the students cheering. He imagines Killua is there already, overseeing the students walking in.

Gon stands idlely, setting down his bag against one of the tables and looks at the chocolates in his hand. 

He takes one long look at it. 

Lets his eyes stare, for as long as they need. 

He feels a little silly. 

Silly, for bringing the letter and chocolates when Killua already has a boyfriend. 

Because really, what is he going to say? He’s going to confess, and then what?

He wants these feelings off his chest. 

And if Killua rejects him, that’s fine—

—That’s totally fine. Right? 

This Valentine’s Day was perfect. It landed on a Friday, and that meant that if Killua rejected him, it would be okay. Because Gon would have three entire days to get over himself, over these feelings—throw them away—and they’d be back to normal on Monday morning. 

As if nothing had happened. 

And Gon is so deep into his thoughts, standing there aimlessly, that he doesn’t hear someone approaching—doesn’t hear the padding of his feet against the cement, or the calling of his name. He doesn’t hear the person, because Killua occupies his thoughts. 

“...On…”

The sound registers.

Someone is touching his shoulder. 

“Gon!” 

Everything comes rushing back to him. He can hear Killua and feel his warm hand on his shoulder. Gon turns around quicker than he ever has before, eyes wide, staring at Killua as the boy looks at him worriedly. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, eyes going from Gon’s face to the box of chocolates he still has. Killua swallows. “You—Did you get rejected?”

The reddening of Gon’s skin must be obvious as the seconds pass. He grows more and more flustered, heart beating quicker, blood roaring—his thoughts. His thoughts are of confessing. Killua is right in front of him. He can do it. He can do it, he has to. He’s got this. 

Gon’s eyes trail to the chocolates, posture stiff.

This is fine. 

There’s a three day intermission if Killua rejects him.

Everything is fine.

Gon swallows. 

Three days is long enough to throw away these feelings. 

_ It’s now or never.  _

Slowly, with Killua’s careful gaze on him, Gon takes the letter, steps a little back and bow deeply, holding the letter out in front of him. His hands tremble, and his face grows hot—overtaken by crimson red. Gon clenches his eyes shut, lips quivering before he speaks.

“I, uhm, I really like you, Killua. I really, really, really like you!” The words are pronounced louder than they should be. “And I know you have a boyfriend, but I just wanted to say my feelings.”

It’s silent. 

Gon refuses to look up. He doesn’t want to see the type of face Killua is making. He doesn’t want to see the disgust, or the weirded-out-ness, or, or—

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

The words are cold. 

Gon’s heart stutters and falls, rotten, in his chest. 

“Is this some way of you joking that I like boys, Gon, ‘cause it’s really not cool—”

Gon takes a shuddering breath.

“You’re wrong!” Gon shouts. He’s shaking his head furiously, tears lining his eyes, and he feels light-headed. “You’re wrong, Killua. It’s you. It’s always been you!”

More silence.

Internally, Gon is crying his eyes out. 

He still has his eyes tightly shut.

And yet, slowly, he hears Killua step. He doesn’t know if Killua has stepped forward or backward—he doesn’t know. But then, gently, the letter is being taken from his hands. Tentatively, hesitantly, waveringly. Gon’s heart is hammering in his chest. 

“Are you sure this isn’t a sick joke?” Killua’s voice is barely above a whisper—and broken. “You’re not making fun of me for liking boys?”

_ That _ makes Gon finally snap his head up to stare at Killua with surprised eyes, mouth agape as he stares at Killua. Killua’s eyes are wet, brimming with tears, face flushed, and Gon feels the breath punched out of him. It takes him a second to even recollect himself and gather his words.

Killua’s hands are gripping the letter tightly. 

“No!” Gon starts, and the tears are slipping. “No—Killua, it’s not a joke. I’ve always liked you more than a friend, fuh—for a long time!” 

Gon can see the exact moment the words internalize for Killua. When Killua’s form grows rigid and stiff, and his breathing seems to stop. Gon holds his own breath, waiting for Killua’s response. For the inevitable “ _ no _ ”, perhaps. He doesn’t know what to expect. 

He’s fidgeting. 

And Killua is biting his lip, before he’s setting down the letter onto the table, atop the box of chocolates, eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The area is quiet, and all they can hear is each other’s breathing—their presence and their being and their hearts.

Soft lips are pressing against Gon’s before he can register Killua’s movement. 

Soft lips are moving against his, kissing softly, breathing slow. 

Time seems to freeze for Gon—his heart flutters, and a burst of happiness runs through him. Killua’s hands are coming up, holding his cheeks and drifting up to run through the sides of his hair. Absentmindedly. Gon’s own hands find home at Killua’s waist.

Gon shuts his eyes, thinks to himself—tells himself that if he’s dreaming, this is the time to wake up. Because he’d read once that you wake up from dreams when you realize they’re dreams. But Gon isn’t waking up in the darkness of his room, surrounded by his blankets and yearning.

_ This is real. _

Gon can’t contain his excitement. He’s giggling into the kiss, and his grip on Killua’s waist tightens.

Until Killua’s lips are separating from his own, a flush high on his cheeks, and he’s looking at Gon with such tender, gentle eyes—because Gon won’t stop giggling and smiling and Killua’s heart is melting into a pool of fondness. The thorns and knots in Gon’s stomach come completely undone.

A look of guilt suddenly crosses Gon’s face, and he leans back.

“Killua…” Gon’s voice is hesitant. “Does this mean your cheating on your boyfriend?” 

Killua is chasing his warmth, leaning closer. He makes a noise of confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re boyfriend, Killua.” 

The realization hits Killua hard, apparently, because he stills—swears under his breath—and Gon feels his heart drop all over again. But then Killua bursts out laughing, hands coming down to pull at Gon’s cheeks playfully. 

“You really are an idiot!” Killua snorts. 

Gon makes a noise of confusion, whining loudly. “What?” 

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Gon. That was a lie. I was hoping that maybe I could decrease the gift amount I got from other students if I said I was finally taken.” 

With Killua explaining the  _ actual _ situation, Gon sputters in embarrassment. “Buh—But your voice—!” 

Hands stop pulling to instead cup his cheeks and bring his face up to Killua’s eye-level. Killua’s face is red. 

“I was… I was thinking about you. As my boyfriend. That’s—” Killua pauses, uncharacteristically flustered. “I’ve liked you for a long time now. I doubt I’d ever stop liking you, even if you hadn’t confessed.” 

The honesty and pure sincerity of his words leave Gon winded. He averts his eyes, biting his lip. The question is right there, at the tip of his tongue. He bites the bullet. 

“How long have you liked me?” 

Killua makes a face. “Haa? What type of question is that?” 

Gon pouts, leaning forward into Killua. “I just want to know—c’mon,  _ Kil-lu-a _ ! Tell me!” 

There’s a moment of stillness, with Killua looking at Gon straight in the eyes—a heavy yet fond look in his eyes. “Since we were kids and you jumped in the way to defend me from my dad.”

“Really?”

Killua leans back, glaring. “Yes, really. When did you start liking me, huh?” 

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Since I saw you walking home when I first moved here and you talked to me.”

They stare at each other, and they burst out laughing together—Gon leaning into Killua’s touch, laughing into his chest. 

“So, we’re both idiots.” Gon says.

It’s not a question.

Killua laughs with him. “Yeah, I guess we are.” 

The conversation tapers off to a comfortable silence. 

And Gon likes  _ this _ . He likes what they’re doing—with Killua pulling him forward, towards him, and Gon pressed into the nook of his neck, laughing lightly. He likes that Killua is holding back his own laughter, that Killua is within his reach, within grasp, that Killua  _ wants  _ to be within proximity—that he isn’t disgusted. 

They can’t get enough of each other’s touch. 

Killua is grabbing Gon to press their foreheads together and sigh. “You’re so lame for having me help you with the letter to my own confession.”

Gon giggles, smiling so wide that his features contort to the exact way Killua described—nose scrunched and cheeks bunched up, brows furrowed. “To be fair, you’re the one who kept insisting you help.” 

“Right, because I was losing my mind over you apparently having a crush on some girl you’d never mentioned. I don’t know how I didn’t realize you were lying.” He takes a breath to smile fondly. “You’re a terrible liar, you idiot.” 

Before Gon can retort with his own response, Killua is kissing him again. Soft, full of adoration and years of yearning.

Gon can’t help but smile into the kiss, no matter how much he fumbles in getting it right. 

Killua leans back. “Y’know, I planned the friendship event and the dance with you in mind.” 

“Really?”

A sound of affirmation. “Yeah. I thought that it’d be nice to confess to you today, or something.” 

There’s already a slow song playing faintly—a slow song that has been playing for the last minute or so. It can be heard all the way from the tiny oasis within the school—the gym speakers broadcasting the sound so loud that they could hear it even now. Hands wander, fingers deftly touch cloth, and then skin, until Killua’s hands are finding purchase on Gon’s hips, and he’s leaning into him with a grin.

“May I have this dance?” 

Gon has always been small—and at the height of five-foot-eight, he’s able to look up at Killua, to the point where Killua’s normal posture allows him to effortlessly kiss Gon’s forehead. And he feels himself grinning too, wrapping his arms around Killua’s neck. 

“You may, your highness.” 

Killua snorts despite leading the dance. “Your highness?” 

Gon hums. “Yeah. You’re kind of like a prince.” 

A scoff. “And what does that make you? My knight in shining armor?” 

He bites back his own snort. “Maybe. If that’s what you want me to be.” 

“You’re impossible.” Killua starts. “But, Happy Valentine’s Day,  _ Mi Sol _ .” 

There’s a flush that colors its way down Gon’s face like a gradient. He stammers, looking away, before replying: “Happy Valentine’s Day,  _ Mi Estrella. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading “Of White Lies and Chocolate Hearts”! 
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone reading this, even if you read it the day after, or weeks, or months after this fic is published. I hope you all enjoy the day—although please don’t amount your self-worth to this capitalist holiday. You don’t need chocolates and bears and red-tinted flowers to be happy. You’re all amazing. 
> 
> This one-shot was a huge pleasure to write. I absolutely enjoyed every bit of brainstorming for it. I tried very hard to make Killua and Gon more similar to children in the way they act—as they’re just 16 years old in this AU. I hope the dialogue wasn’t too boring to read. Also apologizing in advance if either of them seem OOC, please let me know if they do! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the story. This has been in the works for around two weeks now, between @tinygon and I! We’re both very excited to release this, and worked hard on coming up with the plot and details regarding the story idea. Please give her a follow, she well deserves it. (~￣▽￣)~ Let us know what you think—we practically grinded out this entire fic in less than a week. 
> 
> **ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS:**  
>  “No te rajes.” → “Don’t chicken out/Don’t give up” (Cuban slang)  
> “Arroz con frijoles, and pan con matequilla” → “Rice with beans, and bread with butter.”  
> “...vamo’” → “les’ go.”  
> “Vamo’, hábla en español pa’ practicar.” → “C’mon, speak in Spanish for practice.”  
> “No sé qué quieres que te diga.” → “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”  
> “...¿qué quieres comer cuando lleguemos a casa?” → “...what do you want to eat when we get to [my] house?”  
> “...tendrías… tendrías refresco... en tu casa?” → “...would you… would you happen to have soda...in your house?”  
> “¿Qué pasa, hijo?” → “What’s wrong, son?” (Son is a term of endearment.)  
> “...nene.” → “...baby.” (Term of endearment)  
> Natilla → Vanilla custard  
> Estrella → Star  
> Sol → Sun  
> “Estas un poco perdido.” → “You’re a little lost.” (Cuban slang)  
> “Mi Sol.” → “My sun.” (Term of endearment)  
> “Mi Estrella.” “My star.” (Term of endearment)
> 
> Follow me on SNS:  
> Twitter: @peachiinari  
> Tumblr: @peachiinari  
> 


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